Hemshire Grove
Chapter One
The look in his eyes was overpowering, downright mesmerizing. The hustle of the world had stopped around us. I was oblivious to rain falling around us or the predator ever-steadily approaching. I was paralyzed. My clothes had become drenched and long, red gashes ran down my arms. Thorns and branches torn at my flesh as I stumbled through the brush. The woodsman led. Ever so often he would stop and listen. His nostrils would flare and his finger would twitch on the trigger. He was on the hunt just as we were being hunted. Something told me I should pray, but the words did not come.
Fear had left my body. I didn't feel anything and we continued onward. The pain in my body was enough to distract me from my impending doom. The sounds of branches snapping and giving echoed throughout the forest. It was growing dark. The woodsman took my hand into his own. His was much bigger. Calloused and brown from heavy work. We sprinted across the clearing and into a tiny cottage. The door slammed behind us.
A fire was already thriving in the hearth. I watched the muscles in his arms work as he fed the fire a fresh piece of cedar. He paid me no mind as he pulled all the curtains and started removing his own dampened clothes. He wasn't shy. He peeled away his shirt and stepped out of his pants. A jagged pink scar ran up his calf. Bite marks decorated his forearms. He had beautiful, lush chocolate hair and a short beard. He was imposing, about six foot three. He noticed me watching him undress. He eyes bore into me. With an outstretched palm he crossed the room and beckoned me to inch closer.
He began unbuttoning what was my pretty, pink pastel button up. He let his fingers nuzzle my small breasts. I looked up at him with uncertainty but I saw no harmful intent behind his eyes. The blood had already began to harden on my wounds. I tried not to whimper as he peeled away my blood-soaked shirt. I could show no more weakness than I already had. I watched as he dabbed my wounds clean and wrapped my forearms in fluffy, white gauze.
"My name is Marianne." I was surprised at the sound of my own voice. The silence had seemed deafening. His gaze never left my arms. He slowly nodded.
"I know. You never shut up. You went on and on. I found you curled up screaming. Not a damn thing even wrong. Except that you're not from around here." I touched my lips. The taste of blood was evident. I watched him smirk and shake his head. "Girls like you have no place here."
"Where is here?" I had no recollection of leaving my home. "Your accent. Unmistakably Australian."
He finished bandaging my arm and rose to his feet. He took my hand and led me over to the bed. His lips were on my own, doing things I had not yet done with other men back home, wherever home was.
"I'm only 17." My voice was meek. I wanted to plead with the man to keep my virginity but he was already upon me. His body was much stronger than my own. I relaxed into the bed. I couldn't remember how to breathe as I felt his fingers fumble over private places, places I have only seen. His fingers glided over my nipples much more delicately than I thought they would. He kneaded my breasts as he delivered kisses upon my jaw. He swirled his fingers around my belly button and kissed my neck before he found my clitoris.
Abruptly, he removed his underwear. His penis was rather large and crooked. It looked red and angry as the veins threatened to explode. He missed my opening. Becoming enraged, he force my knees apart and rammed his length into me. A breathy grunt left my lips. A burning pain began to swell in my private place. He eased in and out of me. His sweat was dripping onto the bed around me and into my mouth as his thrust became increasingly violent. With a guttural moan, he ejaculated inside of me. I laid there, nude as he got up and stirred around in the kitchen.
I was frozen in time. The rain had began its assault on the windows. The heavy drops almost created a feeling of comfort and goodness. The woodman came back. He spied the bright red spot on his sheets. He yanked the messy sheet from under me and piled it on the dark, wood floor. He placed a beer in my hand and mumbled a pitiful "Goodnight" before rolling over.
Fear had left my body. I didn't feel anything and we continued onward. The pain in my body was enough to distract me from my impending doom. The sounds of branches snapping and giving echoed throughout the forest. It was growing dark. The woodsman took my hand into his own. His was much bigger. Calloused and brown from heavy work. We sprinted across the clearing and into a tiny cottage. The door slammed behind us.
A fire was already thriving in the hearth. I watched the muscles in his arms work as he fed the fire a fresh piece of cedar. He paid me no mind as he pulled all the curtains and started removing his own dampened clothes. He wasn't shy. He peeled away his shirt and stepped out of his pants. A jagged pink scar ran up his calf. Bite marks decorated his forearms. He had beautiful, lush chocolate hair and a short beard. He was imposing, about six foot three. He noticed me watching him undress. He eyes bore into me. With an outstretched palm he crossed the room and beckoned me to inch closer.
He began unbuttoning what was my pretty, pink pastel button up. He let his fingers nuzzle my small breasts. I looked up at him with uncertainty but I saw no harmful intent behind his eyes. The blood had already began to harden on my wounds. I tried not to whimper as he peeled away my blood-soaked shirt. I could show no more weakness than I already had. I watched as he dabbed my wounds clean and wrapped my forearms in fluffy, white gauze.
"My name is Marianne." I was surprised at the sound of my own voice. The silence had seemed deafening. His gaze never left my arms. He slowly nodded.
"I know. You never shut up. You went on and on. I found you curled up screaming. Not a damn thing even wrong. Except that you're not from around here." I touched my lips. The taste of blood was evident. I watched him smirk and shake his head. "Girls like you have no place here."
"Where is here?" I had no recollection of leaving my home. "Your accent. Unmistakably Australian."
He finished bandaging my arm and rose to his feet. He took my hand and led me over to the bed. His lips were on my own, doing things I had not yet done with other men back home, wherever home was.
"I'm only 17." My voice was meek. I wanted to plead with the man to keep my virginity but he was already upon me. His body was much stronger than my own. I relaxed into the bed. I couldn't remember how to breathe as I felt his fingers fumble over private places, places I have only seen. His fingers glided over my nipples much more delicately than I thought they would. He kneaded my breasts as he delivered kisses upon my jaw. He swirled his fingers around my belly button and kissed my neck before he found my clitoris.
Abruptly, he removed his underwear. His penis was rather large and crooked. It looked red and angry as the veins threatened to explode. He missed my opening. Becoming enraged, he force my knees apart and rammed his length into me. A breathy grunt left my lips. A burning pain began to swell in my private place. He eased in and out of me. His sweat was dripping onto the bed around me and into my mouth as his thrust became increasingly violent. With a guttural moan, he ejaculated inside of me. I laid there, nude as he got up and stirred around in the kitchen.
I was frozen in time. The rain had began its assault on the windows. The heavy drops almost created a feeling of comfort and goodness. The woodman came back. He spied the bright red spot on his sheets. He yanked the messy sheet from under me and piled it on the dark, wood floor. He placed a beer in my hand and mumbled a pitiful "Goodnight" before rolling over.